


For You, My Queen

by GemNika



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Gore, CoLu Week 2018, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-21 20:11:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemNika/pseuds/GemNika
Summary: The time is drawing nearer for Lucy to find a man to father the heir to the Northern Kingdom. During a raid in the south, she believes she's found the perfect one. The only problem is that he refuses her advances at every turn. She can't send him away, though. Can she find a way to bring him around, or will the rest of their days be spent with him bound so she can finally have the heir she's destined to?CoLu Week 2018, Day 7: Staff.





	For You, My Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Let's call this a… Dark Fantasy AU with a dash of Norse inspiration (possibly not wholly accurate, but at the very least in that general direction). There's one more aspect to this that made me really excited to write it, but I'll leave that for the end so nothing gets spoiled!  
>   
> I cut this off much earlier than I wanted to, but I had a lot of ideas for it, and very little time to actually get it written. It just barely fits with the prompt, because one section that was cut due to time constraints had a whole thing about a staff… anyway, see the notes at the end!

 

The queen of the northern realm slowly sat up in her bed at the quiet shuffle of armor from the night darkened doorway. Sun-kissed hair fell down past her shoulders in soft waves, mussed from a restless sleep. Pale moonlight cascaded through the window on the far side of the room, only just illuminating her husband's battle-weary face as he drew nearer to their bed. He'd been gone for weeks already, and she was more than happy to see the ease of his steps. He hadn't been hurt.

She'd already gotten word back that the raids she'd sent him and her second-in-command, Erza, on had been successful. She'd just needed to see for herself that he was unharmed.

The blanket slipped down past her swollen belly to pool around her hips. With a wave of her hand, magic slithered from her fingertips and wafted through the air to light every brazier on the walls. As soon as she saw him completely, her body responded. Her cheeks flushed at the sight of his calloused fingers unfastening the buckles on his armor. Her heart pounded beneath her breast at the heat pouring from his single indigo eye.

"The children?" she asked. His lips quirked in a half-smile, one that she knew meant he'd heard just how breathless she was.

The pleasure he'd wrought on her body over the years had conditioned her to react like this to him. She knew this, but it didn't matter. She didn't fight it. Fighting her desire for him would be as effective as fighting against the Gods with nothing more than a stick.

"Asleep," he said. His voice made her tremble. "Virdani and Iben grow more every time I leave."

She bit her lips as his armor fell to the floor. She hadn't seen his grey fur cloak, but he must have removed it already. His movements were slow, methodical, as he stripped down completely. It gave her all the time she needed to rake her eyes over the muscles that had broadened his shoulders in the past ten years, the bulk of his arms. She spent more time than usual appreciating how thin his hips were.

He grabbed the blanket and ripped it away from her, and she smiled when his tanned fingers cupped her dripping center beneath her nightclothes. Just one touch was enough to send her head spinning. Seeing him crawl onto the bed, closer to her, how he hovered over her and his breath warmed her lips, was a sure way to have her whimpering with need.

But she didn't whimper. She was a queen. She ruled the northern realm, and commanded an army of nearly 15,000 soldiers. Her most trusted general, her husband, knelt before her on her throne and bowed his head to show his fealty in front of those they rules. She wouldn't make such a disgraceful sound.

"Do it," he rasped. His fingers slid lower, teasing her entrance with tight circles that he knew would leave her a panting mess. "You know I love it when you give in."

"Never," she hissed. Oh, but she wanted to. And he knew it, if the way his lips curved a little more was any indication. Slowly, her sex stretched around his fingers, and then he stopped. He waited. He didn't stop her from shifting to take his fingers in all the way, but she couldn't move all that well now. Not while she was this rounded with child.

And the bastard knew it. She was stuck, desperate for him. Oh, she'd taught him too well, it seemed. All that time she'd spent, breaking him in, molding him to be the perfect lover for her - how surprised she'd been when she finally discovered how voracious his appetite could be - and he used it against her.

"Won't you let me please you, my Queen?" he asked. His hand shifted, and that sad little sound slipped from between her lips, just like he'd wanted. As soon as it did, his lips captured hers in a kiss that was equal parts love and vicious need. She could still taste the sweat and blood on his lips, the dried meats he'd eaten on his journey home. He tasted of battles that she'd spent years fighting for herself. But now, her place was as the ruler, a delegator of battles considered beneath her.

Now, her duty was to rule and bring the heirs into the world. To raise them and protect her keep from intruders.

She was just happy to have someone like him by her side. And to think, he'd been such a savage beast when she'd found him…

* * *

The sky was painted orange from the burning buildings with thick black plumes of smoke billowing high above them. Metal clashed against metal as the northern warriors raided the village. Women screamed, babes cried out for their mothers, for their fathers' heads to stop rolling through the blood-soaked mud.

The ends of her golden hair were matted with thick crimson fluid. He couldn't stop himself from watching the way she spun and ducked low to avoid the sword being swung right at her head. She moved so easily in her leather armor. Her lips pulled up into a snarl, and she let out a mighty roar while thrusting her sword into Dag's stomach. She ripped the sword up through his chest and out of his left shoulder. Bright splashes of red danced through the air and landed on her cheeks.

This small woman from the north had taken down one of the village's most decorated warriors so easily. She had to be killed. From what he could tell, as he brought his sword down on a woman with light green hair and turned to face more of his enemies, this woman was the leader.

If he could kill her, then he'd be a hero.

Blonde hair, small stature, with a war cry loud enough to raise the dead. She was the one they'd all heard of.

The Great Northern Queen.

Erik's muscles screamed as he hacked his way through the village. He didn't pay attention to where his sword swung while fighting his way toward her. He didn't mind the way his fingers grew slick with the blood of his enemies, how he had to adjust his grip on his sword's hilt with each life he took.

She turned toward him, and her wide, crazed eyes locked onto his. Mud coated her legs, her arms, had splashed onto her pale cheeks to mix with his people's blood. And then she smiled.

He didn't speak to her. There was no need for talk when she would be dead soon. Erik held his sword high and rushed toward her. He swung with all the force he could muster, reveling in the way she grunted with exertion when their swords clashed. He knew that she was light on her feet, that she would use anything to her advantage. He had to make this quick.

Erik bore down on her, but she managed to push his sword out of the way. He should have known that she would elbow him in the face. Whether his nose was broken wasn't important. He was too bloodthirsty to feel the pain as he rushed for her again. They danced around one another, their swords meeting again and again and sending sparks flying. His foot connected with her stomach, sending her crashing to the ground. But instead of finishing her off, Erik waited. He waited for her to stand and fight him again. He wanted to kill her, but it wasn't going to be easy. First, he had to wear her down, make her beg for mercy. And then,  _then_  he would kill her.

Only after he'd broken her spirit.

So he kept fighting her, meeting her heavy blows with ones equal in strength. She was a vicious fighter, he thought as her heavy gauntlet slammed into his cheek with enough force to send him stumbling back. And that was his mistake. Erik knew it when she kicked his knee and it buckled. The back of her gauntleted hand sent his head flying to the side before his knees hit the ground. He braced himself on his hands and knees and coughed when she kicked him in the ribs.

"Bow before me, and I'll let you live," she said.

"Fuck you."

Her fingers rooted themselves against his scalp and dragged his head back so he could look into her eyes. The smile she gave him was something cold and chilling, completely devoid of tenderness even as her free hand gently caressed his cheek. This close to her, he could see the light freckles across her nose. She was so deathly pale. Did they not have sunlight in Nilfheim?

"Tell me your name," she said. She kicked at his hand before he could raise his sword, then crushed it beneath her boot until the bones shifted. "Tell me!"

"Why would I give my name to a northern whore?" he snarled.

Her hand gripped his cheek tighter. "You have such beautiful eyes," she hissed. She pulled his head back further, leaned over him a little more so her blood-soaked hair fell around his face. His eyes widened in horror as her thumb brushed over his right cheek for only a moment before she dug it into the socket.

Erik screamed as the pressure became too great to bear. He felt the pop, heard that sickening sound reverberate in his skull. Her breath was hot and heavy against his face as he clawed at her with his free hand. The pain was like nothing he'd ever felt before. It was worse than a sword slicing at his thigh during training when he was just a teen. Worse than being beaten by the barkeep for sneaking scraps of food from the kitchen. Worse than the pangs of hunger that doubled him over when he was just a child, alone and searching for food.

She pushed him to the ground and his muddy hand came up to cover the empty, bleeding socket. He saw the way she grinned at him. How she brought her thumb to her lips, and her devilish tongue slipped out to lick it clean.

Then she turned and started to walk away from him. The sounds of fighting around them filtered back in. He'd been so consumed with her, he'd forgotten that there were others there, fighting to protect their homes, their families. He didn't have either of those. Erik wandered through life, jumping from one village to the next over the past twenty years, hoping to find a place to call home. He'd hoped that this place could be his home. He'd sworn to the village elders that he would protect it with his life.

It took all the strength he possessed to reach out for his sword and stand once more. She didn't hear him. If she did, then she ignored him, already thinking he was no longer a threat.

Erik adjusted his grip and lunged, bringing his blade down on her arm and cutting deep into the muscle. His head swam as he watched several locks of her golden hair fall to the ground along with his sword. When had he let go of it?

She whirled in place and her boot connected with his stomach again, sending him sprawling across the ground.

A woman with bright red hair towered over him, her sword aimed at his throat. "Allow me to kill him for you, my Queen," she said.

"Erza, no," the Queen said, staying the other woman's hand just before she could swing. He turned his attention to her, barely saw her intrigue as she glared down at him. "He's mine."

"He will be dead soon," Erza said.

The Queen crouched down, placing her knee on his shoulder to keep him pinned. She didn't need to. He couldn't find the will to move any longer. He'd tried to kill her, and he'd failed. The longer he looked up at her, the more his vision blurred. She doubled, tripled, and each copy of her that swam above him had the same chilling smile. Her hand brushed across his cheek, and her fingers came away soaked with his blood.

"This one belongs to me," she said. "I will entrust you with his survival to the keep, Erza. Let no harm come to him."

"Crazy bitch," he rasped. "I'll kill you."

Her eyes flashed with excitement, and she leaned closer. He groaned when more of her weight pressed down on his shoulder. "You can try."

* * *

His eye slowly opened to find a stone ceiling high above him. Beneath him was something warm and soft, a bed he realized after a moment. Exhaustion clawed at him, but he couldn't dwell on it. His fight with the Northern Queen flashed in his mind, with the vivid images reminding him of the pain in his bones, his joints, down to his very soul.

To think, he'd been beaten by a woman. A woman who was so much smaller than him.

His head throbbed, and he lifted a hand to press it against the bandages over his right eye. That's right, she'd gouged it out. How could he have forgotten about that?

"It is good to see you awake."

Erik's head turned too quickly, sending a bright flash of pain through his skull. When his vision cleared, he saw here there. Standing by the door with her arm held in a sling, she watched him closely. She'd cleaned herself up in the time he'd been unconscious. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the low light given off by a cluster of nearby candles, and her hair was no longer drenched in blood. His eye narrowed at the sight of her. He was going to kill her. But not right then. Just breathing was a chore. As long as she didn't kill him outright, he would bide his time and kill her when he'd regained his strength.

She closed the door she'd been standing in front of, then slowly walked toward him. Her steps were careful, but he noticed the distinct lack of sound as she walked. Still, he didn't look away from her penetrating gaze. He wouldn't show any more weakness in front of her than was absolutely necessary.

She sat on a stool beside the bed, then smirked down at him. "I will tend to your wounds," she said. "But you must not fight me."

He said nothing. He simply watched as her hand drew nearer. She carefully removed the bandages from his face, and he couldn't stop the hiss that escaped him when she lightly prodded at his cheek. She lifted a bowl from the floor and set it on her lap, then rung out a scrap of cloth. At the first touch against his forehead, Erik sighed in relief. He couldn't help it. He hadn't realized how warm his face felt, but the cloth was cool, refreshing. It soothed a bit of the pain.

"I'm sure you're wondering what's to become of you," she said.

His eye closed as she rung out the cloth again. If she planned on killing him, then it would have happened already. Unless she was going to let him heal and then torture him… But even then, he was resigned to his fate. At least, for now.

"My armies have razed your village and the surrounding villages to the ground," she said. He didn't care about the lives that had been lost. "We control the land down to the Iron Forest now."

That was miles away from the village she'd captured him in. They'd gone so far south… How long had he been unconscious?

"I have brought you north, and you will never return to that hellhole you call a home." She set down the bowl and grabbed another from the floor, setting it in her lap. Her fingers stirred the contents, and came away with a sticky green salve that she carefully rubbed on the bruised, swollen flesh where his eye had once been.

"And what will you do with me?" he asked. She paused for a moment, and he looked into her calculating honey eyes. Her expression was softer than he remembered. She didn't seem nearly as strong or domineering as she'd been on the battlefield. He might have ventured to say that she looked innocent, had he not been on the receiving end of her wrath. "I know your people take slaves."

"As do yours," she said. "That's how things work." She cleaned her fingers in the water bowl she'd used to wash his face, then prepared new bandages. "But unlike the others, I've chosen you for a specific purpose."

"And that is?" He saw the small wince she let escape while bringing her injured arm out of the sling. He didn't miss the bandages wrapped around her bicep, or the splash of red soaking through them. She stayed silent while carefully wrapping bandages around his head, over his missing eye.

Once she'd finished and had her arm back in its sling, she said, "You belong to me now. I greatly admired your spirit in battle. You're quite the warrior."

He would forever deny that he flinched when she pulled down a blanket he hadn't been aware of until that moment to expose his chest and stomach. Her fingers prodded at his side, and he hissed at the deep, throbbing pain that bloomed in her wake.

"And you cut me," she said with a short, huffing laugh. "Erza was ready to kill you for that."

"You deserved it," he ground out. "I should have taken  _your_  eyes."

The look on her face was nearly playful, definitely full of mischief. "All things considered, you should count yourself lucky that you even hit my arm." If he could have moved, Erik would have attacked her right then. But he couldn't move without being in pain. Just turning his head to keep her in his sights was nearly enough to send him careening into darkness once again. "But..."

He tensed when she pushed the blanket lower and he felt the cool air of the room on his genitals. Was he naked then? What the in the nine hells was she doing?

"I need someone just like you. Someone strong, stubborn… A real warrior."

"You killed Dag," he said. "He was the best warrior in-"

She scoffed as her fingertips feathered over his hips. "That…  _thing_  was no warrior," she spat. "All muscle and no brain. I need a man with a brain."

His lip curled into a sneer as she cupped his genitals and looked back into his eye. Erik tried to pull away, to ignore the pain that flared across his chest as he smacked at her hand. "Don't fucking touch me."

She smiled at him, seemingly unperturbed by his outburst. "But you lasted in a fight against me," she said. She grabbed his wrist and looked down at his deeply tanned knuckles, then brought them to her lips. When he tried to pull his hand back, her thumb dug into the underside of his wrist, forcing his fingers to curl into a useless fist. "You survived my blade through intellect, more than strength."

He still tried to fight as she brought his hand above his head. The muscles in his shoulder screamed, and he was so swept up in forcing his mind away from the pain that he didn't realize she'd secured a length of rope around his wrist until it was too late. And with one hand bound to the bed, he knew it was useless to fight her. Even as she crawled up onto the bed and sat astride his hips, he knew nothing would come from struggling. So Erik fought harder, regardless of the pain that knocked the air from his lungs when his hips shifted to upend her.

"You shouldn't fight too much," she laughed. Was this nothing more than a game to her? She propped herself up on her knees and he sent his fist sailing toward her face. The pain was worth it when his knuckles connected with her jaw, nearly knocking her off of him. But then she grabbed his hand and slammed it against the bed. She moved and used her legs to hold his arm down while tying a rope around his wrist.

"Just fucking kill me," he spat.

"Kill you?" she laughed. "But if I kill you, then how will I get the heir I want?"

Erik froze in his struggling and stared up at her in disgust. "That's vile."

"Is it?" she asked. Slowly, she moved down the bed and straddled his hips again. Her fingers walked along the center of his stomach, up to his chest.

It was when he glared up at her that Erik realized she wasn't wearing her armor. She was vulnerable, wearing nothing more than a slip of night black fabric that heavily contrasted her pale skin. Her armor had hidden the soft curves of her body. He hadn't seen the generous swell of her breasts before. He'd seen her legs, the power in them, the way her muscles tightened as she moved. And her arms, how a single swing of her sword could decapitate a man as though his neck was nothing more than a blade of grass.

But with no armor to protect her, he could see  _her_. And for the briefest of moments, the color of her skin and her place as a woman from the north, the fucking Northern Queen, wasn't at the forefront of his mind.

"Should you agree, you'll want for nothing. And once I have my heir…" She smiled and leaned closer to him. Erik wriggled against his bound wrists as her hair trailed over his stomach. "You'll be my general. Honored and revered as the North King, leading my armies against the people who raised you."

She didn't know that no one had raised him. He'd been left to fend for himself since he was a child. Still, he snarled up at her and ignored the way the rope chafed his skin. "I would rather be burned alive than father your demon spawn!" He would kill himself before he allowed her to do anything to him. He wasn't going to give this insane queen what she wanted.

She reached down and wrapped her fingers around his flaccid cock, grinning when he bit back a groan. No matter how he moved, she followed, slowly stroking him until his body betrayed him entirely.

"It seems the Gods favor this," she whispered, tracing one finger around his swollen tip. "But you are still healing. You need time."

"Don't fucking touch me!" He turned away as her lips came closer, and he cringed as her tongue slid across his jaw. He shifted roughly to one side, and gasped as pain flared in his chest again. The fabric of her dress was soft and tantalizing as it slid over his thighs. His eye clenched shut when he felt her lips surrounding his cock, slowly sucking him further into the warm, wet heat of her mouth.

He was going to kill her for this.

* * *

Lucy smiled as she walked into the room and found him bound at the far wall with his hands over his head. Her eyes raked over his dark skin, the defined muscles of his stomach and chest, his shoulder-length maroon hair that was soaked from a recent bathing. She followed a droplet of water as it travelled down to the top of his loosely fastened pants.

It was the least she could do for him. She didn't want anyone else seeing what was hers.

It had been a week since she'd first come to him. She'd forced herself to wait, to not indulge in her desire just yet. He wasn't ready. But he was healing nicely, from what she'd been told. He ate with no issues for the guards who were tasked with feeding him.

His head lifted slowly, and she suppressed a shiver at the intensity of his single indigo eye as it bored into her. She took her time closing the door, walking closer and picking up a cloth to dry him. Once she was within reach, his foot shot out to kick at her. Lucy laughed and sidestepped it. She watched as he almost lost his footing. He must still be weak then. "There's that fire I like to see," she said.

"I'll set  _you_  on fire," he spat. She heard the way his voice trembled though, and her smile faded just a little. She watched him in silence, saw the way he tried not to shiver from the chill in the air. He wasn't used to the cold. She hadn't thought about that. Where he was from, it never snowed; meanwhile, there was hardly a day without snow where her keep was nestled in the northern mountains.

"You're cold," she said.

"Fuck you!"

Lucy sighed and moved forward, glaring when he started to struggle against his the rope binding him. She lifted the cloth to his chest, slowly wiping away the water clinging to his skin. Such beautiful skin. Such a dark, exotic color that begged for her lips and teeth to drag across it. But she could have patience for something like that. He needed to be dried first. "Have you been bound like this for very long?" she asked.

The harsh lines of his face were made more severe when he sneered down at her. She hadn't even realized how much taller he was than her until that moment. "Since you tried to rape me," he said.

"Bring your head lower," she said. He didn't move. "I'll dry your hair, if you lower your head."

"Go to hell." She wasn't going to let him freeze. Too many times, she'd seen the things that the cold could do when one didn't dry themselves properly. A missing eye and her offer to make him the father of the future queen would be the least of his worries if he grew ill from his stubbornness.

The only issue was that he was two heads taller than her. So, Lucy did what was needed. She moved to a pulley off to the side, far enough that he couldn't reach it even with his legs, and gave him more slack. His arms lowered bit by bit. As she'd expected, he was still too weak to stand properly. His legs buckled under his weight, pulling his hands above his head once more as he landed heavily on his knees. She didn't miss the pained groan coming from him as he tried to roll his shoulders. So they  _were_  sore. Maybe she could do something about that. She did still need him to fight in the future. It wouldn't do if he was made unable to swing a sword.

Lucy brought the cloth to his hair. He shied away from her, but she pressed onward, carefully pulling his thick locks away from his face. She was surprised to find his ears were pointed as she moved his hair to the side. Was he not a human? This may have all been in vain if he wasn't. She couldn't have an heir with someone who wasn't also human.

His head snapped in her direction when she touched his ear. "Stop touching me."

"Why do your ears look like this?" she asked. "Are you half Jotun?"

"Do I  _look_  like a giant?"

"Then why?"

His jaw tightened and he looked away from her. If he wouldn't tell her, then she could be patient. But she couldn't take what she needed from him until she knew. Instead, Lucy continued drying his hair, then moved down to his shoulders, along his spine. When she reached the band of his pants, she paused. He'd stopped breathing. Was he waiting for her to touch him again?

Well, he would have to keep waiting.

Lucy returned to the pulley and lowered his arms further. Once his hands sat in his lap, she walked behind him and knelt as well. "Are you in pain?" she asked.

"What does it matter to you?"

"I can't get what I want if you hate me," she laughed. She rested her hands on his shoulders and lightly massaged from his neck down to the center of his back. It was partly to ease him, but it also gave her ample reason to feel his skin. His hidden strength. She massaged in slow, careful circles, and waited for the moment he started relaxing. She prolonged that moment, letting it stretch onward for several minutes. If she jumped on the chance to touch him more intimately as soon as he relaxed, he would trust her even less. Her thumbs dug into the space between his shoulders and spine, and he sighed in contentment. He was still relaxed. This was perfect. Her nose brushed along the shell of his pointed ear and he gasped. "Does this feel nice?"

"Stop."

She grinned as her fingers dug into his shoulders a little more and he groaned. "It's a simple answer. Tell me, am I doing this right?"

"... Yes."

"I've never done this before," she said. Her hands glided higher to the base of his skull. "I know that, if done right, this is very relaxing."

She was rewarded with another sigh from him. His head rested a little more heavily in her hands as her fingers sifted through his hair. Slowly, Lucy moved in closer until she was pressed against his back. She set his head on her shoulder and continued massaging his shoulders.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"I can't try and make you more comfortable?"

He scoffed, but didn't try to stop her from massaging up to his temples, behind his ears, down the column of his throat and back again. "Everyone wants something in return for kindness," he said.

"You know what I want from you."

"I'd rather be dead," he said. Maybe he expected her to get angry with him. She didn't. Maybe he'd anticipated retribution for his tone. There was none. Instead, Lucy simply laughed quietly in his ear, brushed her nose through his hair, and continued massaging him.

"Well, if you promise not to try attacking me, maybe I'll consider not having you bound so uncomfortably."

"I can't make that promise."

Her hands finally stopped moving when they reached his chest. Maybe it was too soon to offer something like that. He'd given her no proof that he could be trusted. She'd yet to break him of his loyalty to Muspelheim. Until that day came, he had to stay bound. He didn't try to move away from her, even when her hands stayed on his chest. Not even when her fingers brushed over his dark nipples. She moved on quickly, though, and rubbed slow circles into the muscles of his chest. The front of his shoulders. His upper arms and down to his elbows.

"Am I still doing this right?" she whispered.

"Yes," he breathed. She loved that he'd relaxed in her embrace. After how he'd reacted to her touching him the last time, Lucy hadn't known whether this would work. But she'd been told that it was a good idea to bring him to this state before trying to seduce him again.

"You won't be my slave," she said. "I expect you to tell me if you're ever mistreated in my absence."

"Why would you care?" She brought her hands down to his lower back, splaying her fingers over the corded muscles and slowly easing them. She smiled when a soft groan caught in his throat.

"Because you'll be the father of my heir," she said. "And while you may not see right now, how fortunate an opportunity this is… You will."

"I'll die well before I'll ever agree to that." She laughed again. At the soft brush of breath on his ear, he tensed. His head turned sharply away from her, baring his throat.

Lucy drew back, memorizing the lean lines of his back and how he hunched over slightly to keep himself hidden from her. With a smirk, she returned to the pulley and raised his arms to their limit above his head, just high enough that he was propped up on his knees instead of sitting back on his heels. She knew that he was uncomfortable. What she'd done could only ease the pain in his shoulders for so long. If she could have trusted him, then the ropes would have been removed. But this one was stubborn.

She liked stubborn.

Lucy returned to her position behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He shifted away slightly, as far as he could manage. "Stop."

"But you need to understand," she rasped. "I need you." Her hands never strayed from his exposed chest and stomach. She traced every muscle, each of his ribs that were still healing from their fight. By the time one hand pushed beneath his pants, he was already fidgeting. His cock was heavy in her hand as he grew more aroused. Even though she knew he fought against it, there was no denying that his body enjoyed the things she did. "It seems the Gods favor this."

"Don't touch me," he hissed. Her lips locked onto his ear, and she grinned when he hardened in her grasp.

She stroked him slowly, just as she'd been instructed to do by the  _seiðr_  in the temple. Those lessons she'd gotten from him would be useful now. It had taken her far too long to figure out how to please her captive the last time they were together. She'd spent the past week learning everything she could about how to bring this man around. She wanted him to want her. She needed it. Because she was running out of time to find a man to father the heir. Soon, it would be too late. And Lucy didn't want to think about what might happen to her kingdom if she ran out of time. Only the  _seiðr_ could see the possible outcomes, and he was very adamant about not telling her a thing where that was concerned.

All she had to do was focus on what made her captive react. How his breathing changed when her fingers wrapped around him, tightened as she moved to the base. She could do this. She hadn't known what she was doing before, but now she did. Lucy could listen to him gasp and groan, how he quietly cursed and pulled on his restraints. She just needed to be confident. And now that she'd already touched him once, now that she knew what she was actually doing... This would be easier.

"Stop this." He moaned a moment later when her nails lightly scratched his chest.

What made him react the most strongly was when her tongue slipped out and glided up to the tip of his ear. His hips surged before he could stop himself. He pulled at the rope holding his hands above his head harder than before. "Now, now," she laughed. "Just enjoy this. Let me take care of you."

"I hate you," he panted. She loosened the ties on his pants and let them fall, then grasped his cock again. Lucy marveled at the feel of his heated flesh in her hand. How easily her palm slid over it, the moisture beading at the tip as it grew harder.

"Tell me your name," she rasped in his ear. He didn't speak, and she pumped him more insistently. "Tell me."

"N-Never."

She let go when she remembered what the  _seiðr_  had told her. Moisture was the key to a man's pleasure. Lucy spit into her hand and wrapped it around his cock. His reaction was something she was sure he hadn't wanted her to witness. His head dropped back onto her shoulder and he thrust into her hand, a long moan barreling past his thinned lips. "That feels nice, doesn't it?" she asked. "Tell me your name."

"No!" He cried out when she tightened her grip on him and pumped harder than before. Her lips locked onto his ear again and the fingers on her free hand toyed with one nipple.

His harsh breaths and strangled moans filled the air, broken up by the wet sounds of her hand sliding over him faster and harder. She wanted to know what to call him. It was too impersonal if she didn't even know his name. She just wanted to be able to connect with him in some way. If she hadn't wanted a connection at all, then Lucy would have chosen someone like Laxus to father the heir. At least, with this man in her arms, she knew he was smart enough to survive in a battle. Laxus was all muscles and power. This man made her laugh, even without trying. "Tell-"

"Erik," he moaned. "My name is Erik… Just… Stop!"

Lucy hummed as her lips puckered on his earlobe. "Erik," she whispered. "A very strong name, just like you."

"Stop," he moaned. His hips twitched again, and his breath hissed between tightly clenched teeth. He pulled at the restraints when she nibbled on his ear, and Lucy grinned at how he seemed to be coming around. "Fuck... Stop, you crazy bitch!"

Her hand slowed and finally stopped, and she lightly massaged his thighs. "Are you sure you want me to stop?" she asked.

He nodded. Lucy frowned and drew back, swiping the moisture from her hand on his pants. She stood and walked around to stand in front of him. He was the picture of submission, tied up and kneeling on the floor, his weeping cock standing at attention, his chest rising and falling quickly as he tried to control his breathing. His head fell forward, so she wasn't able to see the torment and anger sitting plainly on face.

" _If you want to torture him, get him to the cusp of his release. Stop before he can cum. And then leave. If he tells you to stop, keep going for a little while longer, then do as he wants. It'll confuse him. When you come back, he'll be begging you to help him. Might take a few days, but if you keep teasing him, then stopping, he'll be eating out of the palm of your hand."_

The  _seiðr's_  words came crashing through her memory. That's right. Lucy wanted him to want her. She wanted Erik to beg her for what only she could give him.

She knelt in front of him and fixed his pants so they sat on his hips once more. When their eyes locked, he looked confused. Anger was definitely there, but he was mostly just confused by her actions. Just like the  _seiðr_  had said. She didn't say a word, even when he cleared his throat and tried to speak to her. Lucy ignored it all. Once he was clothed, she looked up into his narrowed, suspicious eye, then leaned forward and pressed a single, gentle kiss to the center of his chest.

She left the room in silence after that. And as the door closed behind her, Lucy missed the way his brows furrowed while he stared at the place she'd kissed him.

* * *

He took the last bite of his stew and chewed the meat slowly. She brought a cloth to his lips and gently dabbed at them to wipe away any other remnants of his meal. His wrists ached from the rope that was always wrapped around them. He needed to get this shit off. And he knew that if she trusted him, he wouldn't have to be bound. But Erik also knew that he would jump at the chance to kill her for the things she'd done to him. She'd yet to have sex with him, but it was only a matter of time before she tied him down and did that as well.

She set down the empty bowl and looked at him in silence for a moment. He sat on the floor of his room, leaning against the wall with his arms taut above his head. "How are your shoulders?"

"Fine." His eye closed as she leaned closer and gently touched his shoulder. He didn't move away, but only because there was nowhere for him to go. She would just follow him anyway. Her fingers trailed up higher to his wrists and his hands clenched when the first touch had his skin burning.

"Have these been taken off of you at all?" Erik shook his head. She touched his chin, and he allowed her to turn his face toward her. Slowly, his eye opened and he found her frowning up at his hands. "Would you let me take you to the bed?" she asked.

"Fuck you," he spat. He didn't want to move to that bed. She  _did_ things to him in that bed. Just a few days ago, she'd tied his legs down after stripping him completely, then kissed every inch of his body from his chin down to his feet. She was teasing him now, working him up to the point of breaking, then leaving his body begging for more. And all the while, the sane part of Erik hated her. And he hated himself for reacting to her.

"The ropes need to be moved," she said. "Your wrists are red." Her thumb brushed lightly over his reddened flesh, and he bit back a quiet hiss. But she must have noticed how his body tensed. "Just let me take care of you."

He wanted to tell her to fuck off, but his wrists did hurt. And he knew by now that she wouldn't actually hurt him. All she wanted was to use him for breeding, and the easiest way for her to do that was to keep him happy. Erik realized, as he glared at her, that he could ask for nearly anything - within reason - and she would give it to him. All he had to do was make her believe that he was trustworthy. "Fine," he finally muttered. "My wrists do hurt."

"And I can help you?" she asked. He looked away and nodded. He didn't want to see the triumphant gleam in her eyes as she used the pulley to lower his hands to his lap. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she untied the rope from his wrists.

His first instinct was to reach out and strangle her, but Erik held back. He didn't move once his hands were freed. He let her touch him this time. The Queen's touch was gentle, tender as she turned his wrists one way and another, but she noticed the way he flinched when her fingers brushed across the small scrapes the rope had left on him.

She stood and allowed him to stand on his own for the first time since he'd been captured. The guards gave him a small amount of space to walk around now that he was able to do it without stumbling. But this was the first time he wasn't bound since he'd healed.

She carefully took his hands in her smaller, paler ones, and led him to the bed. He sat on the edge and rolled out his wrists, then his shoulders. She walked toward the door and spoke with the guard standing just outside. When she returned to him, Erik didn't know what she was planning. There she stood, not wearing her armor again. Every time she visited him, she wasn't wearing armor. Did that mean she trusted him enough to still be vulnerable like this? Or was it just that she knew he had no means of killing her before a whole swarm of guards would be on him? He almost wondered what would happen if he did attack her right then. Would she finally have him killed? Would she tie him up again and torture him the way any slave would be, with a whip or flail or bloodletting? As he looked up at her, Erik knew the truth.

She would have him bound again, but she still wouldn't hurt him. No matter what he did to her, this Queen wouldn't have him killed or beaten. She would just continue with her plans, whether he was willing or not.

She took a slow step closer to him, almost unsure of whether she needed to be on guard. He wasn't going to attack her right then. Not when he was finally free from that damned rope.

Instead, Erik sat up a little straighter and his hands tightly gripped his thighs. This was it. She was going to do this while he wasn't bound, to test him. She was going to see if he would attack her while she forced herself on him. He should have attacked her right away. He knew that as she gently sifted her fingers through his hair. Warmth travelled down to his groin, bringing back the ache that he did everything in his power to ignore. Part of him wanted her, ached for her. He ignored it.

Her hands slid lower, cupping his cheeks for only a moment, then she began lightly rubbing away the tension in his neck. Down to his shoulders that he didn't want to admit were in pain from being in the same position for too long. She continued down one arm, working out every bit of pain, every tense and knotted muscle, until she reached his wrist. Then she did the same on the other arm. And through it all, the Queen was silent. He simply watched her as she lifted his hand and her thumbs pressed into the center of his palm. Erik hummed before he could stop himself. He hadn't realized how much his hands hurt.

He didn't know he was leaning forward until his forehead was pressed against something soft that smelled of sweet honey and a hint of leather. His eye opened to find her breast just next to his lips, her arms around him while she started massaging his shoulders and upper back once more.

Things could be worse than this. He knew that. The times that she was like this, before she forced her touch on him, he enjoyed as much as a prisoner could enjoy their captor's presence.

Erik knew that he had it easy. It was made even clearer when the door opened and she didn't move away from him. The servant that walked in was a woman with deep purple hair and bright green eyes. He'd seen her once or twice, but she didn't speak to him. She carried a tray with what he could only assume the Queen had asked for, bowed low, and got ready to leave.

"Stay," the Queen said. "Treat his wrists, but be gentle."

"I'm not a fucking child," he sneered. His words ended on a soft groan when her fingers pushed more insistently on a particularly tense area just beneath his skull.

"No," she laughed. "You're not a child, but I am busy right now. Kinana can treat you."

Erik sighed and let it happen. Kinana knelt on the floor by the bed and carefully cleaned his wrists, applied a salve to them, then wrapped bandages around them to keep them dry and safe from infection.

"Will that be all, my Queen?" Kinana asked, keeping her head bowed.

"Yes, that-"

"No," Erik said. The Queen jolted and looked down at him. He met her questioning gaze and smirked. "I'm not opposed to what you're doing right now, but it will be better if you have oil on your hands."

"Oil?" she asked softly. She turned to look at Kinana, as if questioning the truth of his words.

"Yes, my Queen," Kinana said. "I have seen them use scented oils for massages. They say different ingredients can help a person relax… and..." Her cheeks colored slightly. "Some can be used as an aphrodisiac."

She nodded and frowned for a moment. "Bring me some oil, then," the Queen said. "Just to help him relax."

Erik watched Kinana leave the room and the Queen's hands returned to his hair. She didn't pull him away from her chest. In fact, she took a small step closer to him, between his spread legs, so he could rest on her more easily. He didn't try to touch her. Erik ignored how his hands itched to move and rest on the backs of her thighs. He wasn't aware of her gentle smile down at him over how he hadn't pulled away.

* * *

Once a week, Lucy allowed him to be free of the ropes that kept him bound. Lucy came to him just after his second meal, and she untied him. She let him sit on his bed, and used the oils she brought with her to massage his shoulders and arms and back. He seemed to enjoy it.

After a month of this same pattern, she'd grown lax. Trusting of him. He never tried to attack her. He still shied away from her when she touched him, but he was always bound when she did that. She wanted to believe that he was coming around though.

As he laid there on the bed, and she sat beside him, finishing up his massage, Lucy wondered if he would push her away this time. He wasn't supposed to. The  _seiðr_ had told her that he would come around. He'd accept her advances if she gave him enough pleasure. But Erik had been more stubborn than she'd originally anticipated. But she wanted to try.

"Roll onto your back," she said softly. He seemed relaxed enough, and he shifted to do as she'd said. Once she could look into his eye, her hands came up to rest on his chest. She carefully kneaded the muscles on his shoulders again, moved down to his chest and then beneath his arms. His soft sigh had her fighting back a smile. "Do you enjoy this?"

"I do," he said. "It feels nice."

Lucy bit her lip and let one hand slide lower. Her fingers brushed across the waistband of his loosely fastened pants. He didn't tense, and he didn't push her away. She grew wary when he slowly sat up, but he didn't say anything. He didn't look angry, as he sometimes did when she was pleasing him. His eye stayed focused on her hand, even as his own lifted and his fingers brushed across her wrist. Her cheeks flushed a gentle pink when she felt the strength in his hand as it skittered across her flesh.

Was he really accepting her? Well, he'd made her wait long enough. And she was so tired of being alone in her bed. She wanted him there with her, but Lucy had promised that he wouldn't be allowed to roam freely until she knew that Erik could be trusted.

But if he was going to touch her, if he would let her please him, then they could finally be together.

"Is this-"

"Shh," he whispered. He came closer and all she could see was the way his lips drew nearer. She'd held herself back from kissing him. Lucy wanted to more than anything, but she wanted to save that for when they were truly together. "You have no idea, how hard it's been to wait for this..."

"For what?"

He smirked and she could swear that her heart stopped beating for a moment. There was more life in him that day, more fire in his single eye as he gazed down at her. He really did have such a beautifully colored eye. She sometimes wished that she hadn't gouged out the other one when they'd been enemies. She gasped when he gripped her wrist hard enough to bruise, and his other hand shot up to wrap around her throat. Was this the sort of thing he found arousing? The  _seiðr_  had told her that this was a possibility. She just had to play along with it.

"For you to be stupid enough to trust me," he chuckled. Her brows furrowed for only a moment, and then he squeezed her throat. He pushed her down onto the bed, towered over her, kept squeezing and squeezing until her head pounded. This wasn't what she'd been told about. This wasn't a little bit of foreplay to spice things up. He was trying to kill her.

Her fist sailed up into his ribs once, twice, three times before he seemed affected by it. She knew that he was larger than her, and he had the advantage of size as he crushed her beneath him. Lucy had to use everything in her arsenal to get away from him. So she drew her legs up and pushed at his hips. There wasn't enough space to kick him. It wasn't until she reached between them and tightly grabbed his genitals, then twisted, that he finally released her with a loud cry of pain.

Lucy rolled off the bed, grasping at her throat and coughing to ease the sudden burn of air sliding down and filling her chest. She whirled in place when he lunged for her.

"You stupid bitch," he snarled. He caught her in a grapple, and they rolled across the floor. She should have expected him to hit her. She hadn't. His fists pummelled her sides. He bloodied his knuckles on her face with three hits before she finally realized that he wasn't going to stop unless she made him. By that point, he'd pinned her to the ground. Lucy cried out when his hand wrapped around her face and he slammed her head against the stone floor.

Bright red spots burst in front of her eyes. She was barely aware of his fists coming down on her again and again. When her vision cleared a little, all she could see was the hatred burning in his eye. The pull of his upper lip that bared his teeth. His heaving breaths. But her hearing was distorted, muffled. So much that she didn't know someone had come to stop Erik from killing her until she saw him being ripped away from her and thrown off to her left, back toward the bed. Several muffled shouts drifted through the air, until she could finally make sense of the warbling world around her.

Lucy sat up slowly, and turned toward the bed. Laxus kicked Erik in the ribs and grabbed his maroon hair, dragging him up off the ground. "Stop," she whispered.

Laxus hit Erik again. Lucy groaned and pushed herself up onto her knees, wavering as a sudden bout of dizziness swept through her. The room tilted to the side, and she felt herself falling. Strong arms wrapped around her, holding her up and letting her rest against an unfamiliar chest. The length of soft green hair in front of her eyes let her know who it was. He was never far from Laxus. Slowly, Freed helped her stand, bearing most of her weight.

"Stop," Lucy said again.

"Laxus," Freed said. "The Queen has ordered you to stop."

Laxus froze with his hand wrapped around Erik's throat. Lucy looked down at her captive, saw the pain in his eye and the split in his lip from Laxus attacking him. But Laxus was just defending her. She knew that. He was doing what any of her men would have done if they'd found her being beaten. She couldn't be angry with him over his treatment of Erik this time, but she also couldn't let it continue.

Her choice was made. Erik was the one. And now that her twenty and second naming day had passed, there was no going back. She had to have an heir with the man she'd chosen.

"Please allow me to kill this piece of shit," Laxus growled.

"You can't kill him," she rasped. Lucy tried to take a step forward, but she stumbled. When she looked into Erik's eye, he smirked at her.

"Why not?" Erik asked. "Haven't gotten your fill, you stupid whore?"

Lucy's jaw tightened as Laxus punched Erik in the jaw. Her gaze honed in on the bright splash of blood that he spit out onto the floor. "Freed, please tie him back up," she said. She looked up into his shocked emerald eyes, giving him a pained smile. "I can trust you to not be cruel to him, can't I?"

"Of course, my Queen," he said softly. "But you-"

"Laxus," she said, turning toward the hulking blond whose icy glare was still directed at Erik. "Take me to the temple."

She could see the way he hesitated. How he fought to control himself before finally pushing Erik to the floor. Lucy tried not to react to the soft groan she heard, instead focusing on Laxus' scarred face as he came closer. Freed's hold on her lessened and Laxus' arm wrapped around her shoulders, careful of the injuries he couldn't see. She waited until Freed had begun dragging Erik across the floor, then slowly turned toward the door. Her steps were slow, her breathing labored, but Laxus was there with her. He helped to guide her through the keep and down to the temple that sat beneath its foundation.

Laxus opened the door and carefully led her into their keep's temple. The room was spacious with large tapestries lining the walls, telling tales of the Gods that no one but the  _seiðr_ could understand the complexities of. A plush purple rug stretched from the door to a large bed of pillows in the center of the room, surrounded by sheer fabric reaching down from the ceiling. "Sorcerer," Laxus called out. "The Queen needs you!"

A loud crash sounded from a room off to the right. "There he goes, breaking things again," she sighed as they walked along the carpet, closer to the pillows. She needed to rest, and she knew from experience that those pillows were constantly kept fluffed and plush. She didn't even mind that she would have to sit on the floor. The pillows would make up for it.

The  _seiðr_  rushed out of the back room, his black robes billowing around him and his perpetually glowing green eyes drawing their attention. "Sorry!" he shouted, laughing when he nearly tripped over his robes. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the state of his hair. The deep blue locks were never hanging down over his forehead. His hair wasn't wet that she could see, so he hadn't just bathed.

"What were you doing?" she asked.

"Just-" A silver-haired woman stumbled out of the room, pulling quickly at her dress to keep her breasts covered. Her bright blue eyes widened in horror when she saw the Queen standing before her, staring at her, taking in her short hair and pinched waist. "So, this is Lisanna," the  _seiðr_  said. "And she came to ask for, uh... guidance?"

Lucy sighed when the woman bowed low and then rushed out of the room through a hidden staircase. "Really, Bickslow?"

He gave her a wide grin with his tongue lolling from his mouth. Finally, he smoothed his hair back away from his face, forcing it up at odd angles that always gave him an air of mystery. Or lunacy. She wasn't sure most times.

"Well, if you're done using your freaky sex magic on commoners," Laxus sneered, "Your Queen needs your help."

"Laxus, enough," she hissed.

He ignored her, leading her further into the room and right up to Bickslow. "That mongrel she brought up from the south tried to kill her. He's lucky I value my Queen's order, or he'd be dead."

"That's enough!" she shouted, glaring up at him. "You may leave, Laxus. Get back to your post."

His jaw tightened as he glared back down at her. It only lasted for a moment before he remembered his place, and nodded. He bowed and stormed out of the temple, leaving her alone with Bickslow.

"He hurt you?"

Lucy's eyes slid closed at the saddened tone of his voice. His hands, so soft and warm, rested tenderly on her shoulders. "I was stupid," she said. "I thought..." When she looked up into his glowing eyes, she knew he saw the truth. There was never any chance of hiding things from Bickslow. She'd thought she could trust Erik, that he'd started coming around. She'd hoped that he wouldn't push her away this time. "I-I thought he..."

Bickslow drew her into a comforting embrace when the first of her tears spilled down her cheeks. She collapsed against him, letting him bear her slight weight in his arms. Of all the people in her kingdom, this was the one place she could truly relax. She didn't have to be the Great Northern Queen here. Not with him. It wasn't because of his magic, or that he could see into her soul with just a look. It wasn't even because he was the  _seiðr_ , a seer for their kingdom.

"Why doesn't he w-want me?" she sobbed. "I've done everything I can to... to please him, and..."

"We just have to give him time, big sister," Bickslow sighed. He curled around her a little more and his fingers sifted through her hair. He drew back a moment later when he felt something wet and warm on the back of her head. "Shit, he really hurt you!"

She let him lead her to the pillows in the center of the room, let him carefully sit her down. Lucy watched with an odd sort of detachment as he bustled around outside of the canopy gathering herbs and a pestle and mortar. He ground the herbs together and tore several lengths of cloth to act as bandages. By the time he returned, her tears had slowed. Still, letting herself finally open up and feel the pain in her heart just from being in her younger brother's presence, meant that she couldn't ignore it anymore. She'd tried to not let Erik's refusal affect her. She'd tried to be a strong, domineering queen who took what she wanted.

"Just relax and let me help you, okay?" he whispered as he knelt beside her with a tray full of bowls and cloth. She nodded, letting him move her one way and another. She stayed silent as he cleaned the back of her head, wiped away the blood dripping down from the corner of her lips and her nose. He wrapped bandages around her head, then gently touched the reddened marks on her throat and wrist. "I don't understand, Lucy. He's the one for you. I've seen it."

"Maybe your magic is failing," she sniffled.

His hands cupped her cheeks, forcing her to meet his glowing gaze. "If my magic was failing, then I wouldn't look like this," he said. She knew it was true. His eyes would be that beautiful crimson color he'd been born with, that he'd grown up having until he turned nine. They wouldn't still glow with the magic of  _Urðr_. She wouldn't get a glimpse of the Well of Destiny in his eyes if the magic in him was disappearing.

"You weren't supposed to have it."

He smiled gently and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Well, next time there's some ancient staff that'll give my big sister magic when she's ready to have the heir, I'll keep my hands off of it," he laughed. She couldn't help but laugh with him just a little. "I was stupid."

"You really were." He'd been such a rebellious child. And when he'd found out that the staff kept in the throne room would give his older sister magic, he'd wanted it for himself. Bickslow's unconscious body had been found at the base of the throne by their mother. When he'd opened his eyes, and she'd seen what had happened to him, things had never been the same.

"Do you ever wish you'd left the staff alone?" she asked. "That you'd been able to fight like everyone else?"

"Sometimes," he chuckled. "But not so I could fight. You know I've never really liked fighting. I'm a lover."

"You're a pervert, is what you are," she giggled. "That magic of yours has only made it worse."

"Hey, now," he laughed. "Lisanna came to me for help. She's had trouble conceiving with her husband." At her raised brow, he laughed harder. "You know I don't have sex with them myself! I have... instruments."

"You're so gross. You and your gross  _sex magic_..."

"But it's helped you," he said, sobering after a moment. "Me being like this, seeing what I see... You wouldn't have known that you'd find him there, and that you needed to raid that village, if it wasn't for me."

"And it's done me no good in that respect," she muttered. "If we're destined to be together, then why does he fight me?"

"Destiny doesn't work that way," he said softly. Bickslow set his herbs off to the side and pulled her closer, between his spread legs so she could rest fully against him. His arms wound around her smaller frame as he leaned back against the plush pillows surrounding them. "You know that."

"I still don't understand," she whispered.

"What I see, what we call our destiny, is malleable," he said. "Who you are and the things you've done, make you into this Lucy. And when I looked to see where your path was leading you, I saw him. But just by telling you to find him, I've changed things. Every bit of advice that I give you, changes things. Our destinies aren't written and final. Our decisions now can alter the path we take."

"So then it's not really destiny?"

"It is," he chuckled softly. "It's just... we can change the course of things by remembering our past and moving forward with that in mind."

"Then tell me," she said softly. "How can I... How will he finally love me?"

Bickslow's eyes closed for a moment, and she waited for him to speak. The silence stretched onward so long that she began to worry there was no way to get what she'd wanted. But he always had answers for her. When she'd come to her younger brother, asking for help to learn how to please Erik, he'd helped her. When she was preparing for a raid and needed to know which direction to take, he was there. He was the reason she'd been able to conquer so much in the time she'd been queen. He'd never failed her before.

Finally, Bickslow's eyes opened and he looked down at her. His smile gave her the smallest bit of hope. "He'll fall in love with you, as long as he's able to see  _you._  Let him see past the Northern Queen. It'll hurt, opening yourself up to him, but the pain will be worth it in the end."

* * *

Erik groaned in his sleep, shuffling only as much as the restraints keeping him prone on the bed would allow. Behind his closed eye, he dreamt of the Queen. It wasn't about what she did to him, how her fingers felt while exploring his body. Her lips as she kissed and suckled at his tender flesh. He walked along a dim corridor lined with braziers in the dead of night, pausing at a single open door. Erik slipped inside and took in the spacious room with its fur rugs and the large bed against the far wall. His surroundings faded while he moved toward a soft, sad sound coming from the bed. He stared down at her curled up form. Her hair was loose around her, pulled from the braid he'd seen her in earlier that day when she came to feed him. A long red gown clung to her body as she curled around a pillow in the center of the bed.

Erik wanted to leave. He didn't want to see her like this. He didn't want to see her at all. But then she whimpered, she curled in further on the pillow in her grasp. She brought a hand up and wiped at her closed eyes, and his jaw dropped when he saw the proof of her torment in glistening droplets on her cheeks. What did she have to be upset about? Why was he seeing her like this?

Why did he have to see her in this bed that was too large for her, that made her look so much smaller than she was?

Footsteps drew Erik's attention, and he turned to see a tall man with blue hair sticking up in a disheveled mohawk and brightly glowing green eyes make his way into the room. Right to the bed. The man crawled onto it, closer to her. Erik didn't want to know why his gut twisted and burned when her head lifted. Like a child running from a thunderstorm, she scrambled over to the man and launched herself into his arms with a desperate, heart-rending sob. He collapsed back onto the bed and held her gently. His hands moved in slow circles over her back and shoulders.

 _"It's okay,"_  the man whispered. His voice hovered around him in a thick, miasmic cloud.  _"Please don't cry over him."_

Erik couldn't hear what she said in response. He saw her lips move, but the only sound that came from her was a pitiful cry that shook something deep inside him. He couldn't find it in himself to look away from her. Why couldn't he look away? Why did she have to keep crying like this? Why did he have to feel something when he saw how she trembled in another man's arms? When he found the will to tear his gaze away from the crying Queen, Erik was looking right into those terrifying green eyes that glared right back at him. The man could see him. He wasn't sure how it was possible, but he knew it to be true.

"This is all your fault," the man said to him.

Erik woke up, gasping for air. He struggled against his restraints on the bed, tried to bite through the gag that had been shoved in his mouth by one of the guards before he'd been left to fall asleep. He couldn't calm his racing heart. He could still hear that man's voice in his ears, in the air around him. Piercing through him just as intensely as those glowing eyes had. It terrified him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He couldn't stop thinking about it. About her.

The tears she'd shed, the torment written so plainly on her face. The sadness that reached down into his chest and squeezed his lungs.

He hated that seeing this part of her was hurting him. Erik hated that there was a part of him, wishing he wasn't bound to this bed solely so he could find her and wipe the tears away himself.

* * *

Erik was lying on the bed with his arms stretched out to the sides and bound to something he couldn't see when the door opened again. It was nearing the time he would eat, based on how hungry he was, so he could only assume  _she_  was coming. Just as she had been for the past six months. Every day, she came in during his meals and fed him. She refused to untie him so he could feed himself, and he'd been told that she refused to lock him in the dungeon with the other slaves.

She'd stopped giving him a few hours without the ropes around his wrists. Ever since he'd attacked her that day, she was never around when he was moved from the wall to the bed. The guards that handled him weren't as gentle as she'd been. They simply move the ropes to his elbows and bound him again until the redness in his wrists went away. Then they switched the ropes back to his wrists. She did still come in and massage him, but it was different than before.

According to one of the guards, a man with long green hair named Freed - Erik assumed one of the women he'd killed in his last battle was this man's relative, their hair was such a distinctly similar shade - had told him that the Queen was being unnecessarily kind to him, even as he rejected her on a daily basis. He remembered Freed being one of the guards who had come in to stop him the day he'd attacked the Queen. Erik hadn't gotten another chance to do it.

Apparently, everyone was aware of what she was doing to him. Touching him. Kissing every inch of his body, but never his lips. Violating him even when he told her to stop. None of them cared, because she was their queen. They turned a blind eye to what he was forced to endure.

He turned to watch her walk into the room, and frowned when he saw someone he didn't recognize right away. A tall man with hair a few shades darker than hers and a lightning-shaped scar over one eye. His icy blue eyes glared down at Erik as he closed the door. Instantly, the room charged with tension. Erik couldn't move. He couldn't fight back against this man he didn't know. It had nothing to do with being afraid - he'd fought men just as large as this man. It had everything to do with the ropes that held him down to the bed.

The man sneered down at Erik and stalked further into the room, towered over him. "What does she see in you?"

"It seems-" The man lunged forward and wrapped a hand around Erik's throat, silencing his answer.

"She should have chosen me," the man hissed. His fist went sailing down at Erik's face, and connected with a sickening crunch. Erik was just thankful that he had pants on. This would have been much more unpleasant if he'd been naked. But that single hit reminded him of who this man was. Laxus, the one who'd been ready to kill him for hurting the Queen. The one who'd come into this room before, in the middle of the night, and choked him until he lost consciousness once before.

His eye rounded as Laxus literally tore him from the bed, breaking the ropes in the process, and threw him into the opposite wall. He'd completely recovered from the day the Queen had taken him captive, but that single jarring blow had knocked the air from his lungs so forcefully that he couldn't pull any back in once he landed on the ground in a limp heap.

"Pathetic," Laxus said. "Stand up and fight. Prove you're worth what she claims you are."

Erik wheezed as a boot came crashing down on his back, pushing him into the stone floor. The guards always made sure there was nothing lying around for him to use as a weapon. This room was kept with only the essentials. A bed for him to lie in when they let him. Ropes to tie him down. There were no bowls or utensils from his previous meal - those were always taken away when he was finished. His own armor and weapons had disappeared when he'd been captured. They'd made doubly sure he couldn't try to kill her again, even though he'd only used his hands in his last attempt.

He barely had enough time to roll to the side when Laxus' boot came down again with enough force to snap his spine like a twig.

"What would make her choose some mongrel like you, when she could have me?" he growled. He drew his sword and slashed at Erik twice in quick succession, catching him one time on the back of his thigh as he rolled away again.

Erik had no time to stand. He didn't have the energy to fight back against someone who was at the peak of his physical strength. He crawled across the floor, narrowly avoiding the next strike of Laxus' sword. Metal clanged violently on stone, and Erik celebrated his victory for only a moment before he was kicked again, this time in the head.

His vision darkened for too long. That much he was sure of as he felt his body being rolled over.

"If she thinks you're worthy of her time, then I'll prove her wrong." He stepped on Erik's chest and held him down. Slowly, so painfully slowly, he dug the tip of his sword into Erik's shoulder. "Don't scream. Only children scream."

Erik refused to give in, even as the sword pierced his flesh, tore through muscle and separated bones. He nearly bit off his tongue in his effort not to cry out in agony. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Even if he never wanted to be the Queen's choice, he was. And he still had enough dignity left in him to deny this bastard the satisfaction he sought. Laxus sneered again and gave the sword a final push with enough force that the tip planted itself in the stone beneath Erik. Voices outside the room caught their attention, and his back stiffened. He left the sword there, pinning Erik to the floor, and ran out of the room.

The voices came closer, then drifted away as Erik laid on the floor. He tried to catch his breath, to fight against the pain that had returned all across his chest. Even worse was his shoulder. He couldn't tell if he'd ever be able to use his arm again. Normally, injuries like this spelled death for a warrior. But his attacker had left before he could finish what he clearly came to do. And Erik couldn't let himself be killed. What if Laxus came back? What if someone else came and finished the job for him? His hands shook as he wrapped them around the blade. If he could just pull it out, then he could find some way to prepare for another attack.

"His door shouldn't be open." The confusion in her voice was a welcome distraction as the blade sliced through his palms. Still, he pulled to no avail. She ran to the door, and he heard a bowl slip from her fingers and crash to the floor. "Erik!"

Moments later, she was there above him. Her hands rested on his cheeks and brushed his hair away from his eye. Her gaze was both worried and furious. He'd never seen such a combination before. But it was there. Right there as she looked at him.

"What happened?" she demanded as his eye slid closed and his bloody hands fell away from the blade. "Who did this to you?"

"Get this… fucking sword out of me…" If the sword was gone, maybe it would hurt less. And then he could deal with this himself. "I-"

"Tell me who hurt you!" she bellowed. Erik's full attention snapped up to her. The worry was gone. Pure, unadulterated fury lurked in her pinched brows and burning gaze.

"My Queen," came a teasing, masculine voice from the doorway. Erik didn't turn to look at whoever it was. He knew it wasn't the man who'd attacked him. "He'll probably be more willing to talk if he's not skewered like a pig."

She turned to glare at the speaker over her shoulder, giving Erik a quick glimpse of a man with bright blue hair and glowing green eyes. "Who the fuck…" he muttered. His eye widened after a moment. The man from his dream. The one who'd been holding her as she cried. Who'd blamed him for her tears. He couldn't be real. Though he'd had that dream more than three months ago, Erik would never forget those eyes.

She sighed and stood, then placed her foot on Erik's chest as she grabbed the sword's hilt. He didn't have time to prepare himself for the sudden tearing sensation that ripped its way through his shoulder. The sword clattered to the ground, and she was there once again, kneeling beside him. Hovering over him. "Now tell me what happened," she said. There was no room for argument in her tone.

At that point, he didn't want to argue with her. He wanted the pain to stop. So, Erik explained what had happened. It was brief, but by the look in her eyes, she knew who had attacked him. Just to be sure, he rasped, "Laxus... with the scar... wants me dead."

She turned to the man who was still standing in the doorway. "Bickslow, see to his injuries. Have him moved to my chambers, and stay with him until I return."

"Whoa, where are you going?" Bickslow asked. She stood and stormed over to him, and he blocked her path. Erik watched in silence, his gaze honing in on how tightly she gripped the sword he hadn't realized she'd picked up while her head tilted back to keep her gaze trained on Bickslow's face.

"Laxus tried to kill him," she said. "He's mad about the choice I made, but-"

"Exactly," Bickslow said quickly. "He's just mad. Talk to him, sort it out, but you don't need to kill him! If he doesn't want to believe you, then I'll talk to him!"

"I've made my choice!" she bellowed. "It's Erik! The only way you'll get an heir out of me is if it's with him!"

"Looks like you'll never get that heir," Erik groaned from where he laid on the floor. He figured it was probably best not to move, what with all the bleeding he was doing. "I'll never be with you."

What he'd expected was for her to snap at him. From the tension rising in her shoulders, it seemed like that was exactly what was about to happen. But then Bickslow glared at him and stepped aside to allow her to pass. She didn't even look back at him as she rushed out of the room. Once they were alone, Bickslow closed the door and moved to kneel beside Erik. He finally got a good look at the man. His glowing green eyes, the grim set to his wide lips. Heavy black robes were draped over his large frame with a sigil embroidered in the center of his chest. A staff with sunlight streaming from behind it.

It took far longer than Erik would have liked to recognize that sigil.

"You're a  _seiðr_ ," he whispered in awe.

"I am," Bickslow said as he pulled a vial from somewhere inside his robes. He lifted the stopper and poured three drops of clear liquid onto Erik's shoulder.

"And you serve  _her_?" Erik asked incredulously. How could someone like her have such a powerful sorcerer serving her? Was this why she'd won so many battles? Because she had a man who could quite literally see into the Well of Destiny and alter the outcome?

Bickslow's lips twitched for a moment, but he said nothing. Instead, his fingers dug into Erik's shoulder and sent white-hot fire washing through his veins. He drew a wide berth in the wound. Erik finally lost the will to keep his pain silent, and screamed behind tightly clamped lips. Eventually, Bickslow withdrew his fingers and rubbed his thumb over the blood on his fingertips.

His eyes narrowed, and he looked back at Erik. "She says your ears aren't normal. Pointed, right?"

"Yeah," he groaned. "Why does it fucking matter?"

Bickslow grabbed his chin gently, turned Erik to face him fully. When their eyes locked, Erik fell headlong into the spinning vortices in those glowing irises. The world around him faded into shades of green and red clouds that wrapped around his entire being. More than his body or some sort of mind control. The very depths of his soul felt the warm embrace of foreign, heavenly, world-shattering magic.

" _Open your soul to me, Erik."_ Bickslow's voice echoed around him. It slithered through his pores and reached into the very depths of his being. " _Let me see the truth."_

He wanted to do just that. He wanted more than anything to let this magician in, to see the darkest parts of his soul and lay them bare.

" _Why do you fear her?"_

He couldn't deny it any longer. Not like this. Those red and green clouds danced around him, taking the shape of his one, precious memory.

His mother laying him down for bed, the smile on her pale face as she kissed him. The pointed tip of her ear when she turned to look out the window. Her slender fingers drifting up to touch a necklace that was far beyond their means, but was somehow never stolen. The ivory waves of her hair were the strongest, clearest part of the memory. And her eyes. Such a vibrant purple, like gemstones sitting beneath crystalline water.

" _This is your destiny. Don't you see that? Lucy is your destiny."_

Lucy… Was that the Queen's name? She'd never told him, and none of the guards he interacted with would have dared to say her given name.

" _You've been given the name of an eternal ruler. You were meant to rule with her."_

Erik wanted to believe that. But he was nothing. He was no one. His own mother had left him shortly after his father was killed in battle. She'd left him to fend for himself, to live or die based only on the skills he'd learned in the first four years of his life.

He couldn't be anything to Lucy.

" _You crave her. I see it. You wait for her to come to you."_

How could he not wait for her? There was nothing else for him to do. But he could admit, at least in this fathomless, timeless space… part of him did crave her attention. Her touch. Her soft words and the way her lips curled just so at the corners when she smiled.

He wanted to feel her hands exploring him again. It had been so long already. He'd considered giving in just that morning, just so he could finally get the relief she kept denying him. He'd given in to temptation once before. He hadn't fought her touch, her lips that kissed and licked and sucked at his quivering, sweaty flesh. He'd watched her kneel in front of him, take him into her mouth, and he'd encouraged her by rocking his hips. Moaning as her cheeks hollowed and her tongue teased his swollen tip. He'd begged her for release, begged and pleaded with her to finally allow him that one small mercy.

 _Please... please let me cum. I need it... Oh, please... I need it so badly,_ he'd begged her. When she'd finally relented, he'd filled her mouth with his seed, a roar of completion tearing its way up his throat. She'd swallowed everything, kissed her way up his chest and held him when his legs trembled to the point of his feet no longer keeping him upright.

But he pulled back from those thoughts, shunned them so vehemently that it was nearly painful to think about in that moment. He didn't want her. Not like this. He wanted to choose this for himself.

But if it was his destiny…

She could have so easily taken what she wanted from him. He'd been incapacitated and helpless to stop her.

He thought back to the second time she'd touched him. He'd given her his name, and then she stopped. He'd told her to stop, and she had. She'd left him alone. That night, as he'd knelt on the floor, hating the way his body reacted to her touch, there had been the strangest pang of loneliness in his chest. Because she'd left him there.

" _So why do you hurt her like this?"_

He couldn't hurt her. Erik knew that. He'd been lucky to cut her with his sword that day. He'd been lucky that she'd let her guard down when he wasn't bound. It had been a fluke. How could-

" _Do you think she feels nothing? She's found in you what she's always searched for. She's learned how to please you, only for your sake. Lucy swallowed her pride and begged for help. She comes to me in tears, because of you. Because she can feel the truth, but you turn her away. You deny her… You taunt her. Do you truly think that doesn't affect her?"_

Erik wanted to yell that he was the one whose feelings should be taken into consideration. He was the one being taken advantage of. He was the one she touched without permission. He didn't want her.

" _Stop lying to yourself."_

He wasn't lying. Yes, part of him craved her, desired her, but that didn't have to control him. He didn't want his destiny decided for him.

" _Your fate was decided before you were born… Son of Freyja."_

The billowing clouds turned to ashes and beat down on Erik's head and back and shoulders. From every angle, he was assaulted by terrifying screams, wind whipping through his hair, the harsh sting of ashes and soot and small stones.

His eye snapped open, revealing an unfamiliar, night-dark room. Soft breathing to his left drew his attention. The muscles in his right shoulder screamed as his head turned, but everything melted away when he saw her there. Sleep had softened her features even further. She laid next to him, dead to the world. Her lashes rested so delicately on her cheeks. Her pale pink lips were parted just barely. Her hair was loose and tangled around her shoulders and across her pillow.

Her breaths were even and slow. Had she really fallen asleep beside him? So close to him? When Erik tested his wrists and feet, he felt nothing holding him down. Was she really trusting him to lie beside her, when she was so vulnerable?

This woman must have lost her mind. He'd tried to kill her once already. Did she think he wouldn't try again?

Erik knew he was in the right, denying that the pull he felt for her deep in his chest meant he should give in to her. He didn't want to be with her, and no one would change his mind on the matter. No one, but himself, he supposed.

Because he knew that if he did convince himself to roll over, to take her right here, she wouldn't deny him. He would be welcomed with open arms.

He couldn't deny that he felt something. He'd just assumed it was a physical attraction, a reaction to the touches she'd forced on him over and over again over the past few months. His body had grown accustomed to it, accepted that her presence meant that he would be touched, teased. Denied, repeatedly. His traitorous body thrummed with desire when she entered the room. It took all of his willpower to fight back that reaction every time she was near him.

But coming from that place that wasn't a place - he was sure that  _seiðr_ had used some sort of magic on him - Erik could no longer deny that it was more than a physical attraction. He'd memorized her face. Not just the way she looked, but the small movements her lips made when she tried not to smile. How she always tucked her hair behind one ear just before bringing the first bite of food to his lips. He'd memorized the softness of her fingers, the calluses on her knuckles. The soft brush of her lips over his throat. And her smile. How she turned away from him just slightly when she smiled, as though she didn't want him to know that he'd done something to bring that out of her.

Erik tested his chest with a full, deep breath. He was still sore, but the pain wasn't nearly as unbearable as it had been before. His leg barely registered any pain at all. Slowly, he rolled toward her and looked at his shoulder that had been used as a scabbard for Laxus' sword. There was still a bandage wrapped around it, but it didn't hurt as much as it should have. What had that sorcerer done to him?

It didn't matter, he supposed. If he didn't have to deal with pain, then he was all for it.

His hand lifted and gently brushed a lock of her golden hair from her face. It was so soft between his fingers. He'd never had the opportunity to touch her before. That was a lie. He'd had plenty of chances to touch her just like this. Any time he wanted, he could have given in to his desire and taken her.

He'd never really wanted to touch her most times. Not when she started tormenting him. But before that, when she sat with him, talked with him… On occasion, he'd found himself wondering what it would be like to be this close to her, to feel her skin under his hands instead of being bound and unable to move.

How easily he ignored those thoughts when it suited him. He'd pushed them away so often that they became nothing more than background noise to tune out.

Not now.

"Lucy." Erik didn't know what made him speak. Why he'd whispered her name into the still, chilly air. Why such a large part of him hoped that she would hear him and wake up. Why he wanted to see what she looked like when she was tired. She shifted in her sleep and he felt her foot barely brush against his. His fingers still toyed with that lock of her hair, twirling it carefully so he didn't pull it. He realized that it was shorter than the rest of her hair, and Erik smiled. This was where he'd cut her hair when they'd first fought. When he'd been able to slash at her arm with his sword, resulting in a scar that she still had. "Lucy…"

She hummed in a way that was wholly undignified, a gruff sort of sound in the back of her throat. Erik had to bite back his own laughter. He'd never seen this side of her before. He tucked her hair behind her ear, and his fingers lightly traced the gentle curve of her cheek. Finally, her eyes slid open. A smile lifted her lips unbidden and she blinked before realizing just what she was doing. And who was touching her.

"You're awake," she said. The way her voice rasped, so thick with sleep, had him shifting a little closer to the warmth of her body.

"I am," he said. "And I'm in your bed."

"It's the safest place for you," she yawned. Her eyes closed in a long blink and she snuggled into her pillow a little more. "No one would dare come after you here. Not after what I did to Laxus."

"What did you do?"

She smiled again and sighed. With just that single breath, he breathed her in. Even now, she smelled of sweet honey and leather. "Public execution. Attempted murder of my future husband. I swung the blade myself. His own sword."

His brows furrowed as he looked at her. "You killed him, for hurting me?" he asked.

"For trying to kill you," she said. Lucy rolled onto her back and rubbed the heel of her hand over her eyes. "He confessed when I cornered him in the courtyard. He also told me that he's beaten you at night."

"And how did you corner him?" Erik asked, propping his head on one hand to look down at her. "He's easily twice your size."

Lucy snorted and turned her head toward him, sending him a devious little smirk that was much more like the woman he knew. "I'm the queen," she said. "And the women in my family are always this size. We've had to learn how to rule over those who dwarf us."

He took that as her refusing to divulge her secrets. Maybe she still didn't trust him. "How would you corner me?" he asked.

She rolled back toward him. Her hand rested on his bare chest and glided higher to the column of his throat. "Well, with you, I'd…" She frowned after a moment and pulled her hand away.

He didn't want her to. That simple touch, so innocent compared to the things she'd done to him already, was a soothing balm on the deep fissures in his soul. Why did he have to turn her away, when she so openly offered him the affection he'd been denied since he was a child? Erik snatched her hand from the small space between them, pressing it tightly to his chest. He ignored the surprise suddenly coloring her features, and closed his eye to soak up the feel of her soft skin brushing over him. He laced his fingers with hers and dragged her hand higher toward his throat where she'd stopped. Higher still to his jaw. The scar that bisected his right eye. For once, he let himself feel. He didn't shut down when she touched him. He directed her, forced her to touch the places  _he_  wanted.

"Erik, what are you doing?"

His lips lifted into a small smirk. When his eye opened again, he found her much closer than before. Had she moved? No. No, he knew she hadn't moved at all. He'd done this. He'd brought himself close enough to feel her breath warming his lips, her nose nudging his own. He waited though. He wanted to know what she would do with him this close. Would she make a move again? Would she try to close this small distance between them and kiss him where her lips had never ventured? But she still didn't move, even as he pressed her hand firmly against his scarred cheek and his fingers slid up the length of her arm. He paused to finally feel the scar his sword had left on her. Lucy gasped when his hand curled around her waist beneath the heavy fur blanket, drawing her tightly to his chest.

"How would you corner me?" he asked again. "Tell me… Lucy."

" _Open your soul, Erik…"_  Bickslow's voice drifted through him, almost as nothing more than a distant memory.

Her breath stuttered against his lips as his hand slid up the length of her spine. He soaked in the soft fabric of her dress, then the bare skin between her shoulders. She was so soft, supple and tender in all the right places.

"I-I'd… Well, I…"

He felt it then. The sudden longing that reached down into his soul from hers. Was this what Bickslow had talked about? Was this his doing in some way? Had that  _seiðr_ used his magic to force the two of them closer together? Whatever the reason, Erik felt it. Her needs, her desires, the passion that simmered beneath the surface and exploded when she was close enough to touch him. How tightly she held herself back. And then, a single memory of her and Bickslow speaking over Erik's unconscious body.

" _We made a mistake. Let him come to you, Lucy. I had you push him too hard, and if you push anymore, where he's at right now, you'll lose him forever. You'll never have what you want."_

" _I just want him to love me…"_

" _I know, big sister… And he will, but only if you give him the chance to find it himself. You've done what you can to show him how you feel. He has to do the rest."_

"You have me cornered right now," Erik said. "Won't you take what you want?"

Lucy shook her head, and she tried to speak only for her words to die in her throat when he leaned down and finally brought their lips together. Erik inhaled sharply through his nose at the first touch that sent a spark of desire zipping right down to his groin. It worsened the longer he kissed her, but he couldn't stop. He didn't dare now that he had this in his grasp. He breathed in her essence in that single kiss, just this one moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. Not just forward or backward, but in every direction, all at the same time.

He lost himself in her kiss, in the feel of her supple thigh under his fingertips. Her breasts as he tore at her dress, the way her nipples pebbled in the air and how it felt to have his tongue circling them. Erik never wanted to leave the comfort of her embrace, and he realized, as she dragged him away from her chest and her tongue barely brushed across his lower lip in search of something more, he didn't have to let her go. He could be with her just like this, just like she'd promised. He didn't have to deny himself the things his body so desperately craved. Because while he'd been no one of real importance back in the south, he was her everything. He didn't want the honor or glory of being a general or a king.

He wanted her. Just her. But he didn't want the Northern Queen.

No, he wanted Lucy. This woman who mewled with delight at the way his tongue teased her quivering flesh. He wanted the woman who always tucked her hair behind her ear before she fed him. Whose nose scrunched when she found something distasteful and didn't feel the need to hide the reaction. Most of all, he wanted the deep pools of honey staring up at him in that moment, to always look at him like this. Like he was the only one who mattered.

Slowly he kissed up the center of her chest and paused at her lips. "I accept your offer," he rasped.

* * *

Lucy laid in their marriage bed of more than ten years, smiling as his arm wrapped carefully around her swollen belly. His lips puckered on her sweat-sicked shoulder on a lazy, meandering path up to her ear while they caught their breath.

"Do you remember," he chuckled, nipping at the lobe, "How shy you were the first time?"

"You can hardly blame me," she laughed. "We had to do it in front of my younger brother."

"Well, it was the only way to make sure you would be pregnant," he chuckled. "And if he hadn't been there, you never would have gotten your powers."

She smiled into the soft kiss he planted on her lips. Erik had been more than alarmed when she'd told him what had to happen. Their first time together had been in the temple, in the center of those pillows Bickslow usually slept on, two days after she'd executed Laxus. Bickslow had been there as a witness, having directed them to lie down on a large sigil he'd drawn on the floor. They'd had to ignore his glowing green eyes watching their every move while Erik finally took her virginity. But that was how things were done. If he hadn't been there, then he couldn't have seen whether they would have an heir soon. But he had been there, and he'd seen the way destiny's waters had washed around her and Erik once they were joined. He'd been able to witness the moment his niece was conceived in this world, and in the world only he could see.

And once they were done, before she could pull any clothing back on to cover herself, Bickslow had brought her the staff that had given her the magic she now possessed. Just a single touch had bound her to the keep until the end of days. Her time spent raiding Muspelheim with her armies was done. But she'd known that's what would happen. She'd forgotten to tell Erik about it at the time, though.

He'd been shocked by the surge of power in the room, the way her eyes had glowed a brilliant gold as the magic passed down in her family filled her entire being. Bickslow had been the one to explain it to him while she writhed and screamed on the ground. He'd also told Erik that his own  _seiðr_  magic had come from the staff - because he'd been a wily child who refused to listen when he'd been told never to touch it. Bickslow's powers had been both a blessing and a curse for him, just as Lucy's were. Just as they would be for the next heir when the time came.

The day she died, the staff would be placed in her hands again to draw the magic back out of her, so it could be passed on to their first daughter.

Erik's fingers drawing slow circles over her belly pulled Lucy back to the present. "I love you, Lucy," he said.

"And I love you," she sighed. It had taken so long for her to hear him say those words to her. The way she'd acted when he'd been captured had made it hard for him to trust her. Some days, she still wondered just what it had been that changed his mind. Just as she wondered why his ears were pointed. He'd still yet to tell her about that, but she trusted him. Bickslow knew the answer, but he'd said it wasn't anything she had to worry about. What mattered was that they were together. She'd forged this destiny, and Erik had helped her do it. And nothing would tear them apart.

_**.The End…** _

…  _ **For now?**_

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **So, I briefly mentioned that there was supposed to be more to this one.**  
>  There was a whole thing about the staff that gives Lucy her magic. I was planning on writing out the scene of her actually getting her magic, but then... time constraints. And that was, like, half of the original thought I'd had going into this prompt.
> 
>  **The other half was a sort of role-reversal scenario.**  
>  We see time and time again, stories about a woman being taken away from her home to marry a king or prince or whatever (like my Frost Prince story in CoLu Week 2017). It's very rare to see a man being whisked away to marry a princess or queen. On top of that, there's an abundance of stories about the men being dominant and doing some serious non-con/dub-con/mind-break shit... Not a whole of the other way around, with the woman being the abuser. I toned this one back just a little bit, and didn't have Lucy actually rape Cobra with full-on sex, but that doesn't mean the things she did was right (obviously). I make no apologies for her actions in this story. It was not consensual until Cobra made the decision to move forward. Whether he was influenced by anything is up to you. I'm leaving it as is, unless...
> 
>  **Unless I decide to make this into a full-length story as well.**  
>  It would obviously be a darker story, what with the non-con theme. There were a lot of ideas that I had that just couldn't fit into my self-imposed "No going over 20k for CoLu Week" rule this year. Whether it's made into a full-length story is up to you guys. If you like it, and want to see it fleshed out more (because I had to skip a lot of scenes that I thought would be great for building up the world and the characterization), then I'll add it to my to-do list. There would be more scenes of Lucy and Cobra together where he's fighting her on it, more drama, more about Bickslow's magic in this universe, the fucking staff that gives Lucy her magic, some other things... Plus a whole subplot about him being the son of Freyja (aka one of the gods... that I tossed in here but didn't get to explore).  
>   
>  **So, you tell me if you'd like to see this as a whole story.**
> 
>  **As one last note, I mentioned that there were some Norse elements and inspiration in this.**  
>  I literally just picked and chose whatever I thought worked well, and left everything else. If you're awesome with Norse Mythology and want to see more of this story, drop me a PM and give me some ideas of things I could research that you think would fit.
> 
> Also, in case you were wondering... seiðr (pronounced "seith-er") is totally Bix's magic, man... Seith magic... If you're not familiar with it, look it up. Part of it is literally sex magic, like I can't even. When I went back to edit this, I did add a few more scenes that I'd cut before. And one of those scenes was where Cobra tries to kill Lucy in his room, and the resulting scene afterwards with Bickslow, where we find out who the fuck he is in this universe. I got the idea to use him while I was researching Norse mythology, and I couldn't leave him out!


End file.
